


Treasures of Heaven

by squiddz



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a local cryptid, Coffee Shops, Fluff, Good Omens Bingo 2021, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29827773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiddz/pseuds/squiddz
Summary: Emily works at a cafe in Soho - one frequented by a mysteriously well-dressed gentleman who goes by the name Mr Fell. She's convinced he's started dating his redheaded friend (the one always wearing those ridiculous sunglasses), no matter how unbelievable her co-worker finds it. Perhaps she needs to fish for details from her favourite customer...(A small moment between Crowley and Aziraphale, as seen through an outsider POV. Written for the Good Omens Bingo 2021)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 340





	Treasures of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> A little slow off the starting block for 2021, but hoping more words flow soon! I love outsider POV and have wanted to write something like this for ages, and filling in the Coffee Shop square on my GO Bingo card seemed like a good opportunity to do so!
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful anti_kate for beta reading <3

“So that’s the guy who runs the antique bookshop?”

Emily froze midway through spooning a heap of rooibos leaves into a teapot and looked over her shoulder. It was a fairly quiet afternoon at Tall Orders, but even if the coffee shop had been packed to the rafters, there would have been no mistaking who her co-worker was talking about.

“Yep,” she said, dumping the tea leaves into the silver pot.

“Right… and you really think the bloke with the sunglasses is his _boyfriend._ ”

With an exasperated sigh, Emily reached for a cup and saucer from the shelves above her. “For the seventh time, _yes_ , Liam.”

Liam leaned over the front counter on his elbows, regarding the table by the window where a well-dressed blonde gentleman sat across from a lanky redhead clad entirely in black. He gave his chin a thoughtful scratch through his beard, before finally shaking his head.

“Nah. Not a fucking chance. I mean, I can’t even fathom how the hell those two even know each other.”

“Look,” said Emily, arranging a small creamer of milk and a bowl of sugar lumps on a tray next to the teacup. "You’ve only been here a week. But _he’s_ been coming here for years, and Glasses over there only ever used to turn up with him every once in a while. But lately–”

“Can’t we call him something else?" Liam interrupted. "Like… I dunno, Mr Suave? Glasses makes it sound like he wears these.” He waggled the black-framed eyeglasses perched on his face. “And that makes him sound way less cool.”

Emily wrinkled her nose. “What? No, that’s stupid.” She looked up from the workbench and narrowed her eyes at Liam. “And d’you really think wearing sunglasses indoors makes you look cool?”

Liam shrugged a shoulder and fiddled with a display of biscuits next to the till. “I mean, maybe.”

“Oh, just ‘cos you fancy him…”

“I don’t _fancy_ him,” he replied, sounding suspiciously defensive. “I just… have eyes.”

“Anyway,” Emily continued pointedly. “Glasses only ever used to come in occasionally, but in the last few months, I haven’t seen Mr Fell in here without him.”

“Mr Fell?” echoed Liam. “Bit formal, innit?”

“Dunno what his first name is. He’s just always been Mr Fell. Can you pass me the French press please?"

Liam handed over the cafetiere and Emily set about on the finishing touches to the order; a tea service and slice of Victoria sponge for Mr Fell, a single mug of black coffee for Glasses that he would inevitably dump five lumps of sugar into when he thought no one was watching.

It was the same thing they had always ordered over the two and half years Emily had worked at Tall Orders. Picking up shifts in a cafe near Soho had certainly meant she expected some odd characters to pop up, but Mr Fell was one of the more eccentric - and by far her favourite. There was just something about him; some intangible warmth, an aura that felt like being wrapped up in a blanket and promised that all the chaos of her life would surely arrange itself and fall perfectly into place.

Most importantly, he was an exceptional tipper.

Emily wiped her hands on her work apron and carefully picked up the tray, while Liam sighed heavily from next to the till.

“Nope, I don’t buy it,” he said as Emily skirted around the counter. “There’s just no way those two are an item.”

“I’m telling you, they’ve started dating.” She leaned towards Liam as she passed him and dropped her voice. “I’ll see if I can get any dirt on their situation.”

“Oh my god, _Em_ ,” he hissed. “You can’t just ask random people about their love life.”

“I’m not daft, I’m just going to make polite conversation. I’ll be subtle.”

She ignored Liam’s indignant - and quite frankly insulting - scoff, and headed towards the table where Mr Fell and his companion were deep in conversation, catching the tail end of it as she approached.

“I just think it would be a bit… _weird,_ all things considered,” Glasses said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“But it’s just art,” Mr Fell replied. “It has nothing to do with, erm, upstairs.”

“ _Nothing to do_ —it’s an exhibit about bloody saints!”

“Art _depicting_ saints,” Mr Fell insisted. “It’s not like they’ve any direct connection to—oh! Emily, just in time. Thank you, my dear.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr Fell,” Emily said as she balanced the tray on the edge of the table. “Saved you the last slice of Vera’s sponge cake.”

“Oh, aren’t you a darling! You needn’t have gone to the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she said, carefully placing out the tea service and cake in front of him. “So… I take it you’re thinking about seeing that medieval Christian art exhibition at the British Museum?”

“Indeed we are,” Mr Fell replied. “Although Anthony here doesn’t seem so keen on it.”

“Oh right.” Emily set the mug of coffee down next to Glasses and hugged the empty tray to her chest. “Religious iconography not really your thing, then?”

Glasses - or rather, Anthony - slouched back in his chair, one arm folded over the backrest, the other reaching out for the coffee cup on the table.

“You could say that.” He looked up at her with an expression that landed halfway between a smirk and a grimace. “Are you at all religious, er, Emily was it?”

Mr Fell’s teacup clattered into its saucer with an irritable clink. “Now that’s a rather _personal_ question, don’t you think?”

Anthony turned out his palms in a gesture of indifference, but Emily waved them both off.

“Oh, it’s alright, Mr Fell, honest. Erm, not really, although I still go to mass on Christmas. But mostly because my grandparents make me feel guilty about it.”

Anthony gave a huff of joyless laughter. “Ah yes, religion and guilt. A combination as classic as, erm… uh… help me out here, I’m coming up blank.”

Mr Fell stabbed at his cake with his fork. “No.”

“But,” Emily cut in. “I don’t think you need to be religious to appreciate the incredible works of art it inspires in people.”

It was almost certainly just the way the afternoon sunlight bounced in through the window, but if Emily didn't know any better, she could have sworn blind that when Mr Fell beamed up at her from across the table, he glowed.

“Precisely, dear girl!” He glanced over at Anthony. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

Anthony heaved a dramatic sigh. “Oh, for pity’s sake…”

Mr Fell ignored the theatrics and turned his attention back to Emily. “Are you planning on seeing the exhibition yourself?”

“Ah, I’d love to,” she replied. “Don’t know if the student budget will allow it this month, though.”

Mr Fell hummed as he held up a forkful of sponge cake. “I’m sure something will work itself out,” he said before putting the morsel in his mouth. He let out a delighted sigh, and Emily thought she saw Anthony’s face soften just a little bit.

“I hope so,” she said. “Well, enjoy your afternoon tea, and let me know if you need anything else.”

She left the pair to return to their conversation and headed back behind the counter on the other side of the shop, where Liam was still waiting by the till.

“So,” she said quietly, tidying the tray away on a shelf. “Didn’t really get anything juicy out of that.”

“We know that Mr Suave is called Anthony now,” he replied.

Emily came to lean against the counter next to Liam with her back to the rest of the shop.

“True. And he appears to have issues with authority figures.”

Liam raised his eyebrows. “You couldn’t tell that from looking at him?”

Emily snorted in amusement, and then the two of them fell silent for a moment. Tall Orders was in the midst of an early afternoon lull, and with nothing but the sound of another customer tapping away on a laptop to hide them, the voices of Mr Fell and Anthony reached the back of the coffee shop clear as day. Surely it wasn’t _technically_ eavesdropping if one simply found themselves accidentally within earshot… 

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” said Anthony.

There was a resigned sigh. “I know, dearest.” 

Emily immediately elbowed Liam in the ribs and mouthed _dearest_ at him.

“Sod off,” he whispered, furtively swatting her away.

“But I don’t see how this is any different from any other art exhibit we’ve visited,” Mr Fell continued. “It’s not like there aren’t any religious paintings at the Louvre, or the Rijksmuseum, or anywhere else we’ve been.”

“I just don’t understand why you’d want to go swanning around a collection called the bloody _Treasures of Heaven_ after… well, you know, after…”

“After everything,” Mr Fell finished.

A sharp guilty pang poked through Emily’s ribs, and suddenly their conversation was cast in a completely different light. Two older men, who had clearly been close for some time, but always seemed nervous in public… _of course_ they had a complicated relationship with religion.

“Goodness, I’m sorry,” Mr Fell said quietly. “I suppose I just wasn’t thinking about it like that. To me, it represented… well, it represented humanity. And _that_ reminds me of everything we’ve been through together. Of… of what we risked everything for.”

Emily clutched at her heart and took a sidelong glance at Liam, who gave her a doleful look in return.

“Oh, shut up, bloody romantic,” Anthony muttered, but there was no bite behind the words.

“We don’t have to go,” Mr Fell said. “In fact, I think there’s a Roy Lichtenstein retrospective on at the Hayward, perhaps we could try that instead. Oh, and the Tate’s putting on an exhibition of Post-War sculpture in Britain, I hear it’s fascinating. Or there’s always—”

“Finish your cake, angel.”

Liam’s hand came down on Emily’s shoulder as she clamped her own hands over her mouth.

“Did he just call him…”

Before Liam could finish, Anthony slammed a fist on the table, startling the pair of them upright.

“Strawberries and cream!” he cried. “That’s the—the classic combination thingie.”

It was then that the shop door opened, letting in the bustle of Central London and three new customers.

“Ah shit,” Liam said, giving Emily a nudge. “Back to your battle stations.”

“Ugh, yeah alright.”

The two of them begrudgingly got stuck back in to work, taking orders and brewing cups of coffee. Halfway through making a latte, Emily caught sight of Anthony and Mr Fell heading towards the door.

“Bye, you two! Thanks for coming by."

Anthony simply nodded, while Mr Fell gave her a cheerful wave.

“Have a lovely day now, dear girl.”

Once drinks had been mixed and steeped, teacakes toasted and buttered, and customers either seated or seen off with takeaway cups, Emily sidled up to the counter and gave Liam her best shit-eating grin.

“So?”

“Alright,” Liam said resentfully. “You may have been right about those two.”

“Sorry, didn't quite catch that - I was _what_?"

"Just piss off."

Emily laughed as a crumpled up napkin hit her squarely on the shoulder, and headed over to Mr Fell’s table to begin clearing away the leftover flatware. Sitting next to a floral china plate, she found a neatly folded £20 note, and then another tucked underneath Anthony’s coffee cup. She smiled and pocketed the cash - just enough to buy a ticket to an exhibition at the British Museum.

Later that day, when she got home after being perfectly on time for the train, after she’d checked her email to see there’d been a week extension given on a bit of coursework she’d been struggling to get to, as she was enjoying the plate of homemade shepherd’s pie her neighbour had brought round because she had simply made too much, Emily thought of Mr Fell, and hoped that whatever he and Anthony had decided to do, they were both having a wonderful evening.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://heavens-bookshop.tumblr.com)


End file.
